


a little bit scandalous (but baby, don't let them see it.)

by hyuckduck



Category: GOT7
Genre: (dear god let this hAPPEN), Gen, M/M, celebrities in love au, mentions of an Agust D and Defsoul collab, model jinyoung, singer jaebum, this is actually incomplete lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 04:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13068669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyuckduck/pseuds/hyuckduck
Summary: He remembers that he’s technically Jinyoung’s first not-relationship in the industry. He’s the first guy Jinyoung kissed since he made it big, the first guy he didn’t have sex within seven minutes of meeting each other, the first guy he visited at the studio to kiss on the neck and say, hi, hyung, the first guy he’d gone on a date with in a long time. His nerves while saying I’ll come see you is apparent. Tentative. Soft. I’ll come see you, he says, but only if you want me to.,,,or: the celebrities in a relationship au.





	a little bit scandalous (but baby, don't let them see it.)

Jinyoung is beautiful in a way that reminds him of a melody played on a piano with the gentle lull of a violin to accompany it, the kind of subtle sexy that reminds him of the bass in an R&B track at midnight with elegance and filth mingled together. It’s a little like less like free-falling and a little more like he’s stuck, trapped between the strings inside a piano when Jinyoung cracks his first smile of the evening over a glass of some expensive wine he hadn’t bothered remembering the name of. The boy is pretty: his full, not-very-feminine but not-very-masculine mouth contrasting to his long, thick lashes and his bright eyes and milky, smooth skin. Like a character in one of Yugyeom’s books.

He shines when the light from the window dances on his face. It’s very difficult to look away from him.

“You’re very quiet,” Jinyoung notes, turning around when he’s almost out of the restaurant, like he’s wanted to say this for a while but didn’t know how to. His lips part long after the words have escaped his mouth. His eyes transfixed on him, fascinated and smiling, “not the one for company?”

He’s a friend of Jackson’s. Jaebum had only seen him once before they’d been introduced, on one of Mark’s magazines. He’d had light brown hair back then, a choker on his neck and a piercing through his nose. Younger, perhaps, but in the rebellious, loud way that boys sometimes were. Like a breath of fresh air in a sky of volcanic ash and pyroclastic flows. They’d met, for real, yesterday, and it had been him who’d invited him to have dinner with him even though he technically has no way of saying that they’d get along.

“Not really,” he ends up saying, allowing the corners of his lips to curl up only when Jinyoung laughs, “I’m just like this in general.”

He thinks he sees the stars swimming in Jinyoung’s liquid tar eyes when the boy says, “I think you’re interesting,” and leans into kiss him quietly, like he’s a whisper in the wind and Jaebum is a lonely willow. He tastes like Merlot and feels like the sky when he brings his hands to wrap them around the boy’s waist. It’s not awkward or strange or whatever: it’s somewhere between. It’s nice, like the beginning of something new.

Then the camera goes off.

Jinyoung flips the photographer in the bush off, smiles at Jaebum and says, “I’ll call you soon,” and turns around to walk down the street to his car. He makes a real good image, suited back and silver rings on his fingers, and before he drives off, he smiles beatifically and waves.

And for the first time in a long time, Jaebum feels like affection and attraction have struck him across the face, and he raises a hand to wave at the boy until he disappears down the road.

………

Jaebum remains decidedly quiet on the whole thing, instead staying holed up in the studio to work on his album in peace. He keeps his phone on silent, to avoid Mark and Jackson’s dramatic texts and Twitter’s insistent notifications, and writes his songs with his legs propped up on the table and his demo playing on loop to give him something to work with. He checks his messages every thirty minutes to make sure he isn’t missing anything important.

Jinyoung doesn’t call. Instead, he texts a simple _How are you doing?,_ in English, complete with a question mark and a capitalized H. He guesses he’s at work. He texts him back, a simple, _I’m fine, I hope you are too,_ and locks his phone so that he won’t be tempted to check it again. He doesn’t get an instant reply, which is fine. He’s okay with waiting for Jinyoung however long he has to. He’s worth it.

The reply comes when he’s driving back to his apartment at midnight.

_I’d like to see you again._

He texts this in Korean. Jinyoung, his pretty, curved smile and his beautiful soft eyes and his wickedly sharp wit. The Jinyoung who had laughed with him, the Jinyoung who’d flipped a reporter off for the photograph without even looking, his pretty, liquid tar eyes on him even when he did so. As though he was the sole focus even though the scenery around them blurred.

 _Me too,_ he types back, and likes to imagine that Jinyoung is smiling as well.

………

“Teach me how to play that,” Jinyoung says.

He’d been watching Jaebum’s fingers on the keys and listening to the flowing music, humming along occasionally when he recognized the songs. He came by the studio (snuck in through the backdoor, avoided the receptionist at the desk, took the stairs instead of the elevator to be safe, kissed Jaebum on the neck instead of his cheek and he said, _hi, hyung_ ,) because his photographer wrapped up early and he had a few hours before he has to leave to Berlin. He looks weary but content.

Happy, but tired.

Like his heart is warm but his bones are cold.

“Sure,” Jaebum says, and moves over to make space for him on the bench. The corners of Jinyoung’s not-very-feminine but not-very-masculine mouth curls up into a small smile when Jaebum holds his hand out. Jinyoung takes it a little gingerly. His hands are warmer than the rest of him. He sits on the bench.

Presses a key experimentally.

Laughs when a high, loud noise emanates through the room.

Jaebum teaches him how to play _Twinkle, Twinkle_. Jinyoung mumbles the lyrics along until he can do it without singing quietly, and then he keeps his eyes focused on the keys while he plays, head down and hair brushing his eyes. Black, glossy eyes focused on the ivory. Liquid sunshine in his pupils.

“Good job,” he praises, even though it was imperfect and required a lot of work. Jinyoung laughs, leans in and rests his head on his shoulder. His hair brushes past Jaebum’s jaw and his hands reach up to rest on his shoulders.

“Liar,” Jinyoung murmurs, hands closing into a fist on the collars of his jacket, “thank you, though.”

He’s gone in three hours, and he leaves a lingering scent of aftershave and cologne and the smell of camera flashes and the spotlight in the studio when he does. Jaebum opens the windows to air it out even though it wasn’t that bad.

………

(Defsoul’s last album wasn’t anything special. Not in Jaebum’s opinion anyway. It sounded more or less like every struggling musician’s music, even though Billboard had credited it his finest work of art yet, and the album was soured by desperation. And loneliness. It was almost like the listeners could tell that he’d started drinking again, and that he’s reckless enough to drive under influence and that he’d been popping pills like they were his lifeline. Like they could tell he wasn’t as mysterious as he made himself out to be. That he was fucked up and high all the time and slept on the floor because he didn’t want to sleep somewhere decent and he didn’t go out because everything was too much for him. He hates listening to that album.

Its name is his name. Jaebum. It’s self-titled. Everyone had thought that it was his suicide note, and maybe it was. He never really felt like Jaebum after he’d released the album. Didn’t feel like the successful, on-top-of-the-world R&B musician America had taken in after Korea threw him out. Didn’t feel like anyone, actually.

Felt exactly the way he was: high, miserable and sick.

A single voice drowned out by the roar of the ocean.)

………

The CEO had called it a “marketing move” to let him do a few shows here and there to make sure people still hadn’t forgotten about him. (They hadn’t: when it had become apparent that he really was going to perform at the MAMAs, the Internet had almost combusted.) No one in the company, not even the other acts at Gloss, knew exactly why he’d moved from Seoul to LA to make music, why he was the way he was, so he doesn’t make a fuss. Just packs what he needs and figures that he can just go in and be out.

Besides, Jaebum is the one who has bad blood with Seoul and everything related to it. Defsoul doesn’t give a fuck.

The first thing that greets him when he steps out of the airport is his own face, plastered on one of the walls. He doesn’t remember taking it, ever, but that might be because he was too high to remember posing for it. Or maybe he hadn’t been posing at all, and the cocky, loose smirk on his face just came naturally to him when he was on drugs. He looks younger in it. Twenty three? No, that was too far back. Twenty three was the happy year. Twenty five? Maybe. He was half-sober and half-drunk at twenty five, not sure whether he was having fun or if he had a problem.

He stares at the boy in the poster.

The boy in the poster stares with red, red eyes.

Eventually, he tears himself away and walks into the colorless, monochrome streets.

………

His set isn’t much, not really. Just minimalist lighting and two songs. _Bad Habit,_ a song he’d written almost seven years ago about an ex whose face he can hardly remember, and _Sin,_ the sixth track from his last EP that Yoongi-hyung had featured in after Jomalone had decided that he’d had enough of performing shit and settled in his apartment to permanently babysit Nora. The crowd is completely stagnant, breathless and hypnotized and still, and he thinks that maybe they’ve missed him a little. He isn’t like the others at Gloss. Not explosive or bright like Yoongi-hyung, or mellow and warm like Suran-noona, or fun-loving and extreme like Bobby or Mino, not commanding or carefree like Namjoon or attention-starved like Hoseok. He’s something in between. Not this or not that.

His music is the way he is: not much, but enough.

The PD hands him his phone when he exits the stage, ducking past one of the curtains. There are notifications from Twitter and Instagram, several text messages from Jackson and Mark, who were streaming live from LA just to watch his stage (they were almost half the notifications from Instagram), and a missed call from Jinyoung. He tells Jackson and Mark to shut up and go to work, uninstalls Twitter and logs out of Instagram. Then he looks for a quiet corner and calls Jinyoung back.

“Hi,” his hands are still shaking from all the adrenaline he’d been too focused to feel seven minutes ago.

“You did great,” Jinyoung compliments, and there’s slight shuffling on the other end, like the rustling of clothes and bare skin on fibrous cotton, “how’s Seoul?”

“Boring,” he hasn’t slept properly in the three days he’s been here, “How’s London?”

“I’m back in LA,” Jinyoung must have opened the window: the sound of cars whizzing in the distance coupled with the wind from the thirty sixth floor is loud enough for Jaebum’s insides to curl up with homesickness, “it was fine, though. I got you something.”

“You didn’t have to,” he doesn’t mention that he’d gone out and bought Jinyoung a bomber jacket yesterday because he’d noticed that it’s the one article of clothing he never wears.

“I wanted to,” Jinyoung laughs, “don’t worry, I think you’ll like it, hyung. When’s the return flight?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he’s keeping track of how many hours are left until he can go back to LA.

“I have the rest of the week off,” the last word trails off into a yawn. Then there’s a long pause, filled with the sound of the traffic and the wind and Jinyoung’s soft breathing, and then he says, “I’ll come see you.”

He remembers that he’s technically Jinyoung’s first not-relationship in the industry. He’s the first guy Jinyoung kissed since he made it big, the first guy he didn’t have sex within seven minutes of meeting each other, the first guy he visited at the studio to kiss on the neck and say, _hi, hyung,_ the first guy he’d gone on a date with in a long time. His nerves while saying _I’ll come see you_ is apparent. Tentative. Soft. _I’ll come see you,_ he says, _but only if you want me to._

“I’d like that,” Jaebum closes his eyes, leans against the wall and can’t help the small curl of his mouth, “soon, hopefully.”

Jinyoung laughs. His pretty, soulless laugh that would be scary on anyone else.

“I’d like that too,” he says, “stay safe, hyung.”

“You too, baby,” he replies, a little softer than he intends to, and smiles when he imagines Jinyoung doing the same.

……….


End file.
